Praise
by Cupe
Summary: They say to never judge a book by its cover, but my master is everything on the outside that he is on the inside. Implied Oro/Kabu and Oro/Sasu. Rated for implications.


(A/N: This idea struck me after reading more of 'The God Delusion'. Not my normal pairings, but hey, first time for everything right? Constructive criticism is appreciated, please enjoy and review!)

There is a saying, I'm not sure of its origin, or if anyone is even sure of where it came from, who said it and when, but everything has an origin, so it must have one.

The saying is 'Never judge a book by its cover'. Now, there are many different variations of this saying, 'Love cake, not make' for example. But the point is, they all mean the same thing: Don't assume someone's personality is going to reflect their physical appearance. And for the most part, this 'rule' is true.

But there are always exceptions to the rule. Those certain individuals who, whether by conscious choice or not, just don't abide by these rules. One of these individuals is a close friend of mine. Or rather, I'd like to think of him as a close friend. He probably sees me as no more than just another subordinate. Another grunt who he can order around, use and abuse and still see crawling back to him after another night of pain and empty sentiments.

I know I'm seen as an evil person for following him and believing in his decisions, but the truth is, ever since I was placed under his control, I've been infatuated with him. I've been in love with him. Through no conscious fault of my own, I am drawn completely and utterly to him. While my mission should have been to become a controlled spy, a wolf among these sheep, I have been freed from those old chains and imprisoned in new ones. While I truly believed I could never be happy here, I have been proved wrong time and time again.

So I follow him, blind leading the blind. It can only lead to trouble. But I'm not so sure I care anymore. As long as when I return from whatever asinine mission he has sent me on (I don't know if he'll ever really appreciate my talents), I can see the slight admiration in his eyes, only a glimpse of the undiluted worship reflected in my own. They say the eyes are the door to the soul, and when I look into his, I see nothing. Just an empty space, inhabited only by evil and that fire, that fire of passion that draws me to him like the proverbial moth to this flame. And, as the proverbial moth often does, I will end up burning to death in his fire, committing suicide by my own sheer blindness to the truth. I am nothing to him. Just another person he has drawn under his wing in what he hopes to be an eternal lifetime.

He comes to me some times, in the middle of the night when everyone except the lookouts are asleep. Everything is silent, but I keep an ear open, to hear the quiet hiss of my door opening as he enters. He comes to me, takes from me, then leaves. He never stays. Never, like a true lover should. But then, we are not lovers. Master and slave. I am purely a tool in his eyes. Despite us sharing these sinful deeds countless times since we met, I do not mean any more in his eyes. And although I try to tell myself that I am the only one he has shared this privilege with, I know there must be, has to be, others. There will always be.

I was happy when a new subordinate joined our ranks. Happy because he was happy. Like a pet and its owner, his happiness was my own, and I was content with this existence until this new pet arrived. And like an old dog, I was tossed aside, my master content with his new toy only. I barely saw them on their own, they were always in each other's company. Training, he called it. But I could see it was more than that. I tell myself I shouldn't be jealous, this new pet will die soon, become a shell for my master's jutsu. But I cannot help it. Why can I not be the one to have that honor bestowed upon me?

He still comes to me some nights. Not as often as he used to, but he comes all the same. These nights make every bit of pain and heartbreak I've endured worth it. But what makes it even more worth my blood, sweat and tears, is the look on his face when I successfully complete a mission, as I always have done, and always will, only for him. I enter the hideout. Report to him. He smiles, cackles, and I hear those words of praise I live for:

"Well done, Kabuto."


End file.
